Magic Files
by ReclusiveLynn
Summary: Various Stories of Harry Potter. Each chapter a different story. Pay attention to the top (Rating/ Pairing/ Warning). I'll toy with the entries as I go along.
1. Philosophy of Manipulation

Disclaimer: Obviously anything Harry Potter is not mine.

Rating: T | Pairing: Harry P./ Luna L. |

Warning: _Character Death_ (not Harry or Luna), _Non-descriptive abuse_, _Suicide_ (not Harry or Luna), AU, Wicca/Witchcraft Beliefs.

Edit Day: 1/5/2013| 2/9/13

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Harry Potter was a quiet child. He didn't like sharing the meager items he had to his name, nor did he enjoy talking to the other children. He worked hard to acquire the few crayons and pencils he kept in his over sized trousers. Harry saw no reason for why they needed to use his, especially when their parents were more than willing to buy them their own. The young Potter also believed that it was no ones business what he did in his own time, or what his preferences in life were.

He often questioned why someone would want to know; his favorite color, ice cream flavor, music genre, or what his family was like. Harry would bristle at being called on in his muggle class to share a few personal details. His details were his and his alone. Harry found himself hoarding his information so much that he would take on a totally different persona than the shy, kind boy he was.

Harry would have long talks with the few nosy children and adults who dared approached him. He took an enthusiastic approach and tell them _other_ people's views, but never relinquished his own. It gave the nosy person the sense that he was telling them about himself and they were getting the information they came for the time being. Until later on someone reviewed the conversation and saw he never once said 'I believe'. Yes, mind games were a talent that the raven-haired boy had in his arsenal. No one knew who he was really, and that was just the way he liked it.

Some would say he was manipulative, Harry would say he was cunning and sly. Manipulative was such an ugly word, after all. He actually didn't care what people thought as long as they kept themselves out of his business. It wasn't that the boy didn't have his own opinion on things. If he were different and let his charismatic personality shine through he would have people following in hoards. Not that he would like being a leader, he much preferred the shadows to get his needs met. Then you didn't have people tracking your not so legal/morally correct ways of getting things done.

Harry always did favor utilitarianism. Anyone shoveling Kant's categorical imperatives could go sucker some other poor unfortunate soul. To live in the world you had to do what made you happy even if it didn't agree with society. Because in the end, who gives a damn that everyone is happy if you're half way under the table regretting everything. No, Harry was no martyr.

The young Potter loved Philosophy. He enjoyed poking holes in theories that these ancient men had developed. A lot of them were just out right ridiculous, like Kierkegaard and dumping his fiancé because he was too in love with the woman. Søren Kierkegaard believed in the leap of faith that everything would work out and he would find his way back to his beloved. Turns out she married another guy, cheers arsehole. Harry snorted to himself at the thought.

Only his relatives knew a few details here and there. Nothing concrete but more than the average person. You see, Harry knew he didn't belong with the Dursley's. He knew this before he could walk or talk. He was a wizard thrown into the muggle world. His Aunt Petunia told him as much when he was three years old, and that if he ever used magic against them he would be out on the street so fast his head would spin.

The Dursley's would not say that they hated Harry, but they really didn't care about him either. He would get three square meals a day, perhaps with a small snack somewhere between. Harry preferred not to eat much as it was, the glares he got were unsettling. He had a reasonable amount of chores and was given proper clothes. The Dursley's might have a strong aversion to magic, but they would hardly take their anger out on a child. Besides, child abuse was always frowned upon in proper society...

The whole 'family' put on a production when they went out in public. Vernon and Petunia played the doting Aunt and Uncle. Harry plastered a smile on his face and shared a friendly camaraderie with Dudley. Harry didn't mind acting; he was well cared for, and the thought of a hug from his overweight uncle made his stomach churn. Harry also quite liked the cold security of his Aunt. There was love somewhere in her pain-filled blue eyes. He could see it even if she didn't admit it.

She may not love him like a son, but he was still her nephew. She knew how loved the he would have been if it hadn't been torn away from the him at such a young age. Petunia could also see Lily's love through the vibrant green eyes. If Petunia had mistreated the little one she would have never been able to face the accusing green eyes that would stare back at her. In her mind she was atoning for all the hateful speeches she screamed at her sister. She never did get to apologize.

Yeah, Lily didn't exactly make it her goal to apologize for James turning Vernon into a whale when meeting each other. But that made Petunia better right? She was able to let go of the past for the brat. Yes, that was what she told herself every time she found herself about to hit the smart mouthed boy over the head with the flat of her hand. It was, after all better than the frying pan she was certain to use if she hadn't been the better woman.

Harry soon found himself on the rickety old swing set at the local park on a windy summer afternoon. There was nothing that needed doing this afternoon. All he wanted to do was laze around and feel the warm air caress his aristocratic face. It was his seventh birthday, the Dursley's wished him so before he left the house this morning. He had gotten a library card from his aunt, which had been the most thoughtful gift he had received, ever.

He loved his aunt she kept him when no one else had come forward. That was not a kindness many could claim they have done. Especially when their sister had forgotten about her muggle heritage and left it for a fickle wizards world. Lily turned her back on her family and expected them to pick the pieces when she was gone. But Petunia didn't hold it against Harry, nor did she bring it up again after she told her nephew.

Harry still loved his mother dearly, she just wasn't the saint she would have been without the information. Neither was his father a saint, he was rude to Uncle Vernon. While this was understandable, in Harry's opinion, you should still be polite. He understood that his aunt was trying to make the point that no one is perfect. Harry understood that but his mother was his mother. Any kid views their mother as perfect, he knew Dudley did, so why couldn't he? He knew they both took a bit of glee at smashing his dreams of his parents. Like with the orphanage trip.

Harry had seen the regular accommodation at an orphanage when his aunt and uncle had taken him to one. The old manor was drafty and cold. A smell of mildew and cleaning products hung in the air, making a disgusting combination. Harry saw young children on their hands and knees scrubbing the floor. He noticed there was a layer of grime that covered the children's skin. They were bone thin and sickly pale Harry thought he saw one of the orphans chattering his teeth. Vernon said that he and Petunia were the only safeguard against Harry being sent there. He learned from his aunt, that day, that he had magic. Accidental magic could happened in times of high emotion, Harry made an effort to control his temper.

It wasn't a hard task to carry out, they usually left him alone if he got everything they asked done. It was when Vernon came home drunk and let out a verbal tirade at Petunia and Harry. He and his aunt had to listen to all the vile things that came from the man's mind. He and his aunt always stuck together when his uncle came back from the bar. They made sure that Dudley was away or locked in his room.

The love he and his aunt shared was not something someone could call _normal_. It was a cold and distant relationship. But there were small things that reassured him that it was still there. Like with the library card, she remembered that Harry had been in a snit at the small selection they had at school. Most were picture or grade one reading material. His aunt knew he was smarter than the average boy, while this was _abnormal_ she would rather have an abnormally smart nephew than an extremely dumb boy.

Harry didn't mind when she poured her love on to Dudley. Like he said, to Harry, there was more love in kind distance than hugs and kisses...

Harry was aware that his kind of behavior wasn't normal and it showed signs of neglect. He, for one, didn't give a care. From what his aunt told him he would need it in the wizarding world with their barbaric policies. He was the heir to the Potter fortune and he might as well start early. Harry acknowledged that you had to have a mask to deal with jerks, without loosing your calm. He was kind of looking forward to the power plays and word games, sort of like a battle of the wits. And earn money for it!

Harry pumped his legs on the swing, it felt like he could fly for a moment. He knew that he could jump off and float down but there was no need to cause a second witch hunt. The wind ripped through his hair, probably making it an even bigger mess than it already was, but he felt alive. Harry was very careful with his magic it wouldn't do for Vernon to find out he practiced with it. His Uncle had a nasty temper and an even worse mouth, even though he lacked the brains his words still scarred Harry. Especially when he started in on his mother. In a counter move Aunt Petunia had given him his mother's old text books she had left at her parents house and her school girl journals.

He hadn't touched the stack of journals though. Harry worried that they would paint the woman as a self-centered bitch or something. While there was a little voice in the back of his head saying that was nonsense but his mother's memory was the only thing keeping him from killing his uncle. The man had gotten worse as of late, Harry thought it was from him getting older and closer to eleven. The young Potter needed to make sure that he was careful tonight, because the man was sure to hit the pubs. Vernon looked at his turning 7 as a right of passage for his more violent tendencies. He had heard the man's drunken ramblings.

Harry and his aunt kept there panic quiet, but they weren't sure what to do. He wasn't about to leave the woman on her own, there was no way she could deal with Vernon by herself. Harry had told her multiple times to leave the man but she couldn't, because the wards that protected them were on that specific house. Also she couldn't take care of Dudley, herself, and Harry without Vernon's income. But by the looks of it, the man would be out of a job by the end of the year if he didn't clean up his act.

Harry had found in his mother's books a spell that controlled a person. He was wary about using it because; it was illegal, it carried jail time, they considered it 'Dark', and somehow it was unforgivable. Harry also seriously doubted that he would be powerful enough to cast the spell. He also didn't want to crack his fragile core, at least that's what the book told him would happen. Harry was doubtful of this because of his earlier feats of magic. But he wasn't about to stunt his core growth for a drunk muggle when he could just use a _Stupfy _to knock him out until he sobered up. _  
_

He would of course discuss this with his aunt tonight when he got back. He wouldn't want her to think it was an attack against her family. If she said no to his idea then he wasn't sure what to do to make it safe to live in the house. Sure there was the police but that put Vernon's job in jeopardy. Thus effected the income the family got, the situation was a mess.

Harry dug his feet into the wood chips that lined the turf of the playground and waited patiently as his momentum slowed to a stop. He got off the swing and dusted off the back of his jeans in the case of dirt left on the black seat. The sun was setting and Vernon would be home soon, it felt like he was readying himself for battle. The man was huge in comparison to the new seven year-old. He could also cause a lot more damage than Harry could. The only thing he prayed for was that his aunt was reasonable.

The air was humid on his walk home causing him to sweat a bit, he would take a shower after talking to his aunt. He could see Privet Drive in the horizon, though he could also see police cars and ambulances, he picked up his pace to running. Harry got a sick feeling in his stomach when he saw body bags. He could only see two, one was big as big as his uncle, and the other could store a mini-whale.

His aunt was sitting in the back of an ambulance trembling for all she was worth. There were tears spilling down her face and heaving sobs. He ran straight to his aunt and held out a hand and she pulled him into a tight hug. He could feel the tears on his shirt, normally he would have cringed and pulled away. But he relished in the love and warmth that came from her.

Perhaps sometimes kind distance couldn't do what a hug could, "My baby, my Dudley!" She couldn't find the strength to pull together full sentences. Harry mimicked what people usually do when they receive a hug and curled his arms around her. The only thing he could think of was her entire family was gone now. Harry and Petunia were the only ones left they were traveling this dark road together. Harry could feel a warm night breeze caress his hair. They would make it through this together.

Harry whispered what he knew would comfort her, "I think it's time that mum watched over Dudley, and I have no doubt that she is giving him the same hug." She clutched him closer and gave a short hysterical laugh. The sobs were gradually calming but the sniffling was still present and she started to speak in a thick voice.

"Fate always will be funny like that, your mother would be so proud of you." Petunia tucked him under her chin and held him close he could feel a pressure behind his eyes. He may not have been close to Dudley he was still a brother. The tears fell and he had no idea why, "It hurt so much to love you when we took you in, Lily and I had been at odds for years and all of a sudden I have her son to look after. If I had been the petty woman I was there is no telling what could have happened to you. So I took you but Vernon was so against it. He had always been abusive, but when we took you in it got worse. He feared you instead of loving you. He wanted to stick you under the stairs, but I wouldn't hear of it." He curled up in her lap. He felt like this was his fault, if he had been home earlier he could have helped.

The police finished taking the reports and the nosy neighbors had retired to bed, when Harry and his aunt drove to Cokeworth. They were going to take up residence at her mother and father's old house. Petunia gave Harry permission to take his mother's journals and her trunk. In the past, their parents home went to Lily, but Lily willed it back to Petunia before she died. Harry's aunt was a mess, it felt like he had to walk on eggshells. It had never felt this way before, before it was just an unspoken rule that they don't talk to each other when they were in the company of Dudley or Vernon. When they weren't around they had a comfortable silence.

The sun was just rising on the horizon. The colors bleeding in to the sky only spoke of new beginnings. At least that was the way he looked at it, his aunt was still silently crying. Petunia had not been strong in front of her nephew, Harry was more an adult than Vernon ever had been. The boy could deal with a few tears. They shared that same pain, but Petunia worse. She had poured half her life into that marriage only to have the bastard kill her son in a fit of rage, then to keel over from a massive heart attack. Petunia hoped to what ever god there was that there was a hell, and that Vernon was burning in it.

They both saw the town come into sight. The smoke from the surrounding factories clung to the skies, giving it a perpetually grim look. Not that either of them cared they just had to get away from Surrey and Private Drive. There was nothing left there, they didn't care about the wards. If what they been told in the letter was true that meant that they followed them everywhere. They had a tentative bond and it was growing closer, Harry more so because he was aware that this was the last of his family and he didn't want to lose more. Petunia took Harry's words to heart, that Lily was looking after her son that he would be safe where ever he went. The reason was because she looked after and cared for Harry. Even if she had mistreated him she doubted that Lily would ignore Dudley it just wouldn't be the same love she gave him if she treated Harry if he was her own.

Petunia didn't blame Harry. Vernon had come home very early, he had been laid off earlier in the morning and spent the entire afternoon drinking. He wanted a punching bag when he came home and the other child wasn't there. He had knocked out Petunia and went after Dudley. Petunia felt self loathing and disgust at herself. It was a similar feeling when she found the letter in the wicker basket that held her nephew, telling her that her sister was dead, but amplified by millions.

It would be years before she could think straight. A death of a child is never truly over come it would always be in the back of her mind. She would pray everyday that Dudley would be cared for and loved.

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Part II

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Harry was racing through Diagon Alley. The man with the white beard and what looked like pimp robes was following him again. Being abducted by some weird old guy, then most likely forced into prostitution, was the last thing Harry needed. The boy slipped into Knockturn Alley, and followed the alley to the end. Harry traced a special pattern with a wand he'd stolen off a plastered wizard. It didn't work very well, but it was protection none the less. First he traced an invisible triangle, then he put a circle within the triangle, finally he put a line bisecting the circle and the triangle.

The bricks jumped aside allowing Harry to enter Holloway Court. The Court was a dim place, grey, and cold. A silver mist hung in the air, making it almost dream-like in quality. Archways lined the uniformed square, stone buildings. Each building had 3 archways per-side, Harry had never entered the archways. He wasn't sure where they led, or what they did. While Harry was curious, he wasn't stupid.

He had found the instructions within the Potter vault. A piece of parchment popped in front of his face as soon as he entered the vault. While it could very well have been a trick, Harry doubted his ancestors wanted him dead. The only reason he knew Holloway Court was the name of this place, was because of a sign hung over the door.

It was creepy being here alone. Like it was forbidden, but it couldn't have been since the paper told him to come here. Harry wandered around for a bit, like he did every other time the old man followed him. Harry didn't pay attention to where he was going, he had been out to get some food after brewing potions all day in the basement.

Petunia let him do whatever he wanted with his magic as long as he didn't flaunt it in front of her face. Harry went to great pains to make sure he was considerate, his aunt hadn't been the same since Dudley died. She usually buried herself in work and stayed long at the office. She avoided Harry and Harry avoided her.

He could still hear her crying in her bedroom at night, cursing Vernon. He didn't blame her, the man had taken everything from her. Together they made ends meet; Harry sold potions through owl order, and his aunt worked at some big company as a secretary to a CEO. Essentially they were two strangers living in the same house. Harry sometimes missed seeing his aunt smile, the true smile that she had on her face when Dudley accomplished something. Harry wanted a smile when he created a new potion, or when he produced a hard potion that was beyond his skill level. He wanted praise for when he managed advanced charm spells. He would like comfort when he had trouble with transfiguration, or when a cauldron melted or exploded. Even when a charm would set something a light.

But he wasn't about to get all sentimental. He cleared his mind and pushed out all emotions. Nothing would come from hopeless dreams, he had hoped that after Dudley that she would start to treat him as a son. As bad as it sounded he wanted her affection. Harry hated being weak, but it was a fact that couldn't be looked over. He shouldn't complain though, she still provided for him as best she could. So Harry just went with the flow. The cold warmth that use to light her eyes, when she looked at him, was gone and all that was left was a dead stare.

Harry eventually made his way back to the entrance and left the same way he came in. He quickly made his way back to Diagon. Knockturn was still a dangerous place if you weren't careful. Granted it got you to other alleys but there _were_ unsavory character that roamed the street. Harry checked both ways before entering Diagon, to make sure the pimp wizard was gone. He noticed it was more crowded today for some reason. He didn't care, he was hungry and craving for some hot soup.

It was a blustery cold afternoon and it had a non-stop sleet throughout the day. All it ever did in England was rain and sleet. But he wouldn't go off on another tirade about the weather. He carefully walked straight across from the mouth of Knockturn, and down the part of Diagon that held higher end restaurants.

Chang's was his favorite, he loved Chinese food and their soup was wonderful. When Harry entered the restaurant was slow. Good, he hated crowds. He went to the front to order, as he waited behind a teenager his thoughts wandered. He knew the man who ran the restaurant and his daughter. His daughter was off to Hogwarts for her first year this year, Harry had offered his help but the man declined. The man was often short-handed, his wife was always away on diplomat business and he had to raise Cho on his own. Apart from the fact that Wizards and Witches barely divorce he would probably assume that the man would have separated by now.

The teenager in front of the nine year-old finally left, and Harry went up to the counter. "Hello, Wei. How are you today?" Harry asked as he tapped his fingers impatiently on the counter. He really should have eaten earlier. Harry felt like he could eat a horse, and maybe a cow too.

"Hello, Harry. On a run to the Apothecary? I know how much you love your potions... No, I know that look, that is the look of a boy who went hours without eating. Child, you must start paying attention to such things! Your magic is growing. You can stunt its growth without getting proper nutrition. You're being very irresponsible, Harry. You are always worried about something, or other than forgetting about yourself," the short man lectured. Harry wanted to roll his eyes, but he knew Wei was right. It would also be disrespectful. So he just nodded looking properly chided.

"Such an actor, you are not listening to me. I've known you since you were seven. I can tell when you are just placating to me and my demands. Now go sit while I have Scrunchy get your regular. I need to take a break, I'll join you so you can tell me what's bothering you," Harry had toned down his manipulation as the years went by. It took too much focus and energy. He would use it when necessary though, usually when he ran into his cousin Draco and Draco's father, Lucius. If you weren't careful they would eat you alive and leave nothing but the bones.

_Petunia left Harry at Charing Cross with no explanation. He had no idea where to go, fright coursed though him! She had muttered something about the Leaky Cauldron. Harry sighed in exasperation at his aunt. That was the thing about how Petunia had acted, sometimes she treated him too much like an adult. He was still a child, and he had no clue what he needed to do in this highly magical place. Finally, found the dingy sign that labeled the establishment as The Leaky Cauldron._

_Harry had decided that the best way to do this was with the truth. He walked up to the counter and asked the man about Diagon Alley. He briefly swept his hair to the side as a nervous tic he had. The man's eyes widened and stated that he was the boy-who-lived. Harry was totally lost, the pub's people crowded him and started to shaking his hands and touching him, it was the most awkward experience to date._

_If there was anything Harry hated more was awkward situations. Sometime when the boy was anxious he liked nothing more than being blunt and to the point. But he had molded himself into a sly and cunning boy, and he prided himself as such. So when all this was happening he was thinking of the best escape and to run far away. He nearly had himself in a panic when someone put a stop to the chaos. _

_Finally a short man with oriental looking robes came forth said to the crowd that they were scaring the child. Harry couldn't agree more and took the man's hand he led him to a brick wall and tapped his wand in a weird pattern and the wall slid open. Thinking back on meeting Wei it wasn't that smart to follow a strange man he had never met. Harry had acted his true age and trusted an adult even though he was a stranger._

_The man showed him around the alley and talked about all the intrinsic details of it. Finally he led the lad to his shop and sat him down for a talk about his history. His mother and father had died for him. That was all he could think about, his aunt never told him that he was famous in this world or that his mother and father had given their lives to protect him. Harry hadn't even visited their graves._

_Wei then took him to the bank to get everything sorted out. Harry couldn't read his parent's will, because it couldn't be read until he turned seventeen. He had a trust vault that would open when he was eleven. So Harry would still have to his potions. Not that he minded he enjoyed his work and helping people. But the constant stress of making ends meet was almost maddening. Also crunching numbers left him with a constant headache. Sometimes he just wish he could rob a bank so they could have one month where they didn't have to worry about paying bills._

_His aunt hadn't gotten a decent job yet. She was working as a checkout woman at the corner store. She was unhappy and seemed in a constant state of depression. There was nothing that he could do, but he tried his best. After all he was still seven, she was lucky that he was intelligent enough to deal with the finances otherwise they would be on the streets. Sometimes he wished he could shake some sense into the woman and tell her to behave like grown-up for once, and let him behave like the child he was.  
_

_He was able to look around the family vault and found a family tapestry showing that he had relations to the family of Black. He was just happy that he had family somewhere. There was also family that was still alive. _

The smell of winter melon soup breaks him from his thoughts. His stomach growled in hunger, Harry picked up his spoon eagerly. Wei slipped into the seat across from him with fried rice and pumpkin juice. Restaurants in the alley actually did make good business, kids wanting to get away from family manors and adults wanting to get away from kids. Also the lonely bachelors who were clueless how to cook also came to visit. Harry came because he liked Wei's food and failed at cooking Chinese food. He would be learning in the summer if Wei had time.

"So tell me what's happening that you are holing yourself up in your cave?" Wei broke the paper around the chopsticks. The man had shiny black hair and warm brown eyes but the thin glasses he worn obscured the view. Harry liked to think of the man as an uncle who would listen but not blab your problems everywhere. He needed to exercise caution, because most of the time the public watched and listened to privet things. Half the time _The Prophet_ recorded his conversations, and printed them for the world to read. That was until Wei put up anti-animagi wards. They concluded that Rita Skeeter was a water beetle, and threatened her with the information if she ever wrote another word on Harry.

Harry let loose a shaky sigh, "I-It's Petunia... I'm worried about her. She has this look of relief in her eyes lately. I think she's finally going through with it and I'm scared. When this stuff happened with Vernon and Dudley, it was sort of starting over. Not that I didn't know it would kill her inside but she would eventually overcome the grief.'

'But all signs are pointing to her taking the easy way out. I actually wouldn't be surprised if I went home today and found a horror scene. I think she had waited for me to leave so I couldn't stop her. That's why I holed myself up in the basement. But we were out of food and I hadn't eaten in hours," Harry roughly wiped at his eyes.

"I can feel it in my heart that she's gone. I don't want to go home and see that. I don't think I can take it, but it's the only way I can know! I can't deal with funeral preparations! Isn't enough that I had to bury my cousin? She is such a selfish bitch," Harry told the man in an assertive voice. Even though the boy knew he didn't mean it. He had seen the way she was dead inside. Harry also didn't know what he was going to do when the last living relative died.

He put his head in his hands and tried the sooth the on coming grief. Harry felt a pressure on the seat next to him and Wei pulled him into a hug. He cried everything out, it was torture on his soul that he couldn't do anything to stop her.

"I-I couldn't d-do anything! Tell me I couldn't do anything, please!" He sobbed into the man's robes. Wei rubbed circles on his back

"You know as well as I do that you're a child. The child shouldn't even know about these concepts. You came to me earlier remember? You tried to get her help, but she refused. You can't blame yourself for this, you did everything in your power. Even as far as to get her admitted. She is just as cunning and sly as you are Harry. I'll close the shop early today, I'll apperate over there and see if anything has happened." Wei whispered to the nine year-old. The child had never had an adult to guide him, Wei didn't know how the kid came out functioning and sane.

"Scrunchy! Close the shop and watch over Harry, I have business to attend to. I'll be back later," the house elf bobbed its head in understanding. She snapped her fingers and the shades pulled closed and a locked click into place. Wei left and Harry was left with Scrunchy.

It was hours later when Wei finally came back. There was sadness there Harry looked at him and the man shook his head. Harry let loose another round of sobs. Wei knew that Harry would come through this he was a strong child and had the support from the families of Tonks, Malfoy, and Chang.

* * *

Part III

* * *

Harry situated himself in the train compartment. He had grieved for his muggle relatives and over came the depression that came along with it. He started to live with the Malfoy's seeing as they where the closest distant family. Wei couldn't take him in because he had 'no room' at his house. Mrs. Chang didn't want a half-blood dirtying her manor. Andromeda was always working with her husband as barristers. But it was almost as if there was bad blood between the Tonks and the Potters.

Narcissa Black was a Black through and through. She would take in her cousin because that's what family did. She always knew that Andromeda was a blood-traitor but to decline housing of family was disgusting. Blood stuck together! That was rule one of the Black household, their parents drilled it into their very beings.

A name got blasted off the family tree when you turned your back on your family. The Black's where thought as being Pureblood fanatics, and wouldn't let a muggleborn into the family. It was absolute gossip that manifested by jealous house wives and threatened head of houses. The muggleborn spouse had to take a power test, _Obliviate _their family, and sign a contract saying that they wouldn't get a penny if the husband or wife died. Granted the Black still had their opposition of muggleborn, they were Know-it-all's that thrived on changing a culture that was so deep and rich in history into some uniformed utopia.

Witches and Wizards were always Wiccan! They didn't celebrate Halloween, Christmas, or Easter! They celebrated the 8 Sabbats of Witchcraft: Yule, Imbolc, Lady Day, Beltane, Midsummer, Lammas, Harvest Home, Samhian, and The Death of LLew. The muggles thought that this was strictly related to woman but the holidays included men also. In the magic world most Pureblood women are Traditional Witches, meaning that they believe that Witchcraft was a religion celebrated by both men and women.

Of course there are old spinsters that believe that only women can celebrate the Sabbats. They were known as Feminist Witches. Who believed in a goddess that would be defiant toward any male she is the epitome of strength, and her name was Artemis. While Traditional Witches believed that their goddess was a being of beauty, grace, and her name is Aphrodite.

Witches in the magic world held more power than originally thought by an outsider. They usually led the holidays. But the only way they could hold on to these holidays was if someone fought for them. Which is why most of Voldemort's followers were people who respected Witchcraft. The man was once sane, but something caused him to spiral out of control and started to kill anything that was animate. The old families had all gone into hiding and the new age faction began to ban a Witchcraft.

Of course they could still do it quietly but it wasn't the same as doing it with a community. The bigger the group the more energy would be produced. The Sabbats were not only for worshiping the world but so they could get a power boost for the year. The ministry didn't like having witches and wizards more powerful than them so they ban the practice along with old magics. Which was an insult to the ancient and noble families as these magics got handed down to each generation.

Harry's thoughts on Narcissa Malfoy eventually trailed off in a different direction. Despite the cold mask the Malfoy's put they were a warm loving family behind closed doors. The biggest surprise was when Harry saw _Mr._ Malfoy laugh. It wasn't a contained laugh either it was a full belly laugh. The cause of such a phenomenon was Harry explained how he hated being asked personal questions and told him how he evaded them with skill. Lucius was so surprised that a seven year-old could have been so manipulative. Though Lucius was a very stern man when it came to the family name and would not tolerate asinine behavior that could ruin the name. It was already put through the ringer because of the Dark Lord, but he had his suspicions about what had happened. Not that he would tell anyone his theories.

Draco while a prat he was a lovable prat. He had a wicked sense of humor, and a sharp tongue that could have you laughing for hours. Harry had always imagined this was what it was like to have a cousin that cared. They both got pissed at each other, for one Harry was reclusive and Draco was like the bouncing child Harry should have been. Draco often interrupted his work with potions, often resulting in melted cauldrons and burns. Narcissa felt exasperated with Draco often when she had to heal the burns. Harry got irritated because he needed his own space sometimes. Harry always provided for himself, he was like a fish out of water when they made him part of the family and had a set of rules. But it felt right it felt like he had a family. Little did Harry know that it was his parents will being executed by magic herself.

It was out of character for the Malfoy's being so accepting, but in the magic world family meant everything and no Dark Lord or Blood War could interfere with that. The public would have its protests about the custody, and if it was all legal. Narcissa was the only willing Black to take in Harry and for that Harry was happy. If anyone were to open his parents will they would have read that after Alice Longbottom/Frank Longbottom and Marlene McKinnon/Robert McKinnon, was Narcissa Malfoy and Lucius Malfoy.

James knew that the Blacks looked out for each other no matter what the circumstances. Harry would be loved because the family magic wouldn't anything less. Even if Harry had Black blood and Lucius was Malfoy, Harry was still a cousin in-law. It still counted as family no matter what other outsiders thought. There would of course be a public outcry from the light party that the boy-who-lived was turning dark. Not that Harry was denying it, Narcissa had told him of the views both party views. Harry liked to believe that the muggleborns shouldn't change what they don't know.

He didn't believe in killing all of them after all magic is magic. But if they could educate on Wicca and Witchcraft they might be more inclined to accept. But Dumbledore had taken out Wizard and Witch Traditions class. Lucius said it was a political move so that he would gain more light support by villainizing the dark party views.

Harry pulled out two books from his trunk just as the train started to pull away. He had already hugged Lucius and Narcissa before they left the manor. Draco was probably somewhere trying to make political allies even though he was only eleven. Harry didn't view himself as eleven after everything that happened to him he probably put himself somewhere around eighteen to twenty.

He had decided that it was time, he would read his mother's journals. Not that he wasn't still wary but if he wanted all the information he would have to read them. He had found the last one she wrote in before she died in the Potter vault. There was also his fathers journal along with it. Evidently every Lord Potter kept a journal of his life so that the younger could learn. Harry's father's was a journal that had endless pages. His mothers were in stacks of moleskin.

Harry had followed his mother's example when he was younger. He had kept a journal when he was five, granted the penmanship was lacking to say the least. But it was fun to see how he improved and the words became legible. Harry had moved to an endless page journal when he turned eight. He transferred all his journals to it with a spell he found in one of the tombs in Potter Vault. But he still like moleskin like his mother.

He pulled out a charmed self refilling fountain pen and began to write what had happened in the past couple weeks.

_Sept. 1, 1991_

_I received my letter, not that it's that surprising. Hogwarts thought of as the best of the best of schools in Great Britain. It never said anything about it being the best in the world. Is there even a magic school that is the best in the world? I should probably research it in the case that Hogwarts isn't like people say it is. I know I shouldn't go into this with a fatalistic attitude but everything in my life has been a disappointment. So if I need a Plan B I will have one. This Dumbledore man isn't exactly helping my opinion, he'd labeled himself as my magical guardian and hasn't checked on me once in ten years. Oh, I can just see the way they would express their disgust if I started to question the man. The thing I hate about the Magic World is that there is a huge population who are babbling sycophants, who will go to the person with the most power. _

_I would make my path, and probably step on a few feet as I go. I am not ruthless, I will do what I have to survive. Just like Darwin's theory, Survival of the fittest. I have lived a half-life these couple of years, I want to make it so I live a full-life, full of laughter and emotion. But that will probably come with time. _

_Traumatized, I have trust issues, I can not accept the warmth of a hug without flinching, and I can not feel the proper emotion in situations. I feel like I'm stuck in a vortex and I get confused when people cry, laugh, or yell. I am use to indifference. Maybe Narcissa is right and I need to see a mind healer. Perhaps I could contact her through a letter later tonight. As of now I am traveling through the lush fields of Scotland on a bright red train labeled The Hogwarts Express. I should probably try to socialize so I will continue this tonight. My guess is my house will be either Ravenclaw or Slytherin. I hope for the first I can only handle so much hate without hating back. There is damage to me but I pray to the Goddess that I will be able to repair my self in time._

Harry shut his journal and threw it back in the trunk. There was a knock on the door, he turned his head to see a dirty blonde with a warm blue gaze look at him. "Hello," he said in a murmur to the girl. She tilted her head to the side and glided into the compartment. She sat staring at him intensely, Harry would liken it to trying to see his soul. But it wasn't uncomfortable, it felt warm and tingly. An emotion he couldn't really name. It was a while before she spoke.

"You're not damaged, just beaten down with the stresses of life. Hogwarts will help you she is a very good listener from what I heard. Winged-Snuffels are always good with advice but they would take years to answer. I'm Luna Lovegood by the way," her gaze wandered to the window looking at the passing scenery without a care in the world. He didn't know how to answer. It made him feel a bit better he could tell she was speaking in riddle and wearing a mask. He wouldn't be surprised if she had some seer blood in her. So he just nodded his head and responded back.

"Harry Potter," he answered back and he also turned his toward the scenery. But he could see from the corner of his eye a small smile and nod. They didn't have to speak they were comfortable with the silence. He pulled open his mother's journal and started to read.

_June 23, 1968_

_This is my first journal. I got the idea from my mummy, her name is Rose. She is always writing in her's and I liked the idea of going back and seeing how much I matured. My mummy is a writer for a cooking magazine. I wouldn't mind being a writer but I feel like I'm meant to do something more. _

_In my family I have 1 sister her name is Petunia, I love my sister very much. She's older than me and she looks out for me. But sometime Tuney can get jealous of the weird things that happen to me. I wish she wouldn't though she is just fine the way she is, she doesn't need them. Sure she's mean but I love her no matter what. _

_My daddy's name is Robert I love him too, he takes the family out on adventures every couple of months. Like last week we went to Stonehenge, it was spectacular! I'm going to do some research later this week at the library. But my dad does work for the logging factory down the street, he's a foreman. I don't think that he exactly likes the work but he does what he needs to make money. I love my daddy very much. _

_Tuney and I are going to the park now so I'm going to stop writing, hopefully I will have something more interesting to write when I get back. _

Harry finished the entry with his brow furrowed in contemplation. He knew that Petunia once loved her sister but he didn't think that the jealousy ran back to when his mother was eight. But damn could she hold a grudge, he briefly wondered where that behavior came from. The child has to learn it from somewhere and he doubted that she learned it from Robert.

But Harry couldn't say for sure, he was getting his information from an eight year-old. The pieces would probably fit together as he read on. The world is black and white at an age that young and a strong sense of trust in authority was still present. Doubting wouldn't come till the teen years probably. The writing was legible, but you could see that the hand writing was that of eight year-old. But there was also intelligence behind the words that littered the page.

Harry debated whether to look at a couple more entries. He looked across from him to see that Luna was reading a news paper upside down. He quirked his eyebrow in amusement. Hey, if the bird liked to read her paper upside down who was he to comment. Even though he just met her there was something in him that resonated with her. A familiarity that wasn't possible to have, but was so obvious that it almost strangled him. Was this a magic of some kind? A force was pushing him to talk to her, but Harry was fighting tooth and nail to shove the notion away. While she might not think that he's damaged, only he knew for sure.

His soul felt like ripped and torn. He felt ragged like he had run a marathon, everything in him screaming that he pushed himself to far and his body was ready to rebel and tell him it had too much. Harry pushed the thoughts away for now, he would deal with it when he was alone and not with company.

He turned back to the windows and noticed that it was getting darker. Before he arrived at the platform he had put his robes on; it was rude to change in front of a girl, was Harry's thought when he was putting them on at the manor. That's at least what Lucius said to the young Potter. He could understand the theory behind the notion. Harry wouldn't want anyone to see his body anyway. He was small for his age and he had a nasty habit of not eating for days on end. He got so carried away with his work that food just wasn't that important. Every so often Narcissa tied him down to a bed and fed him nutrition potions to make sure that he wasn't stunting his core growth.

Sure he bitched about it then but he got a warm feeling in his heart when ever she did that for him. He thought that warm feeling was love, but he couldn't be sure. He never really knew what love was. He knew what verbal abuse was, he knew about indifference , and what disgust was, but he would never claim he knew what love was.

"So, Harry what year will you be in? I'll be in first year though you may have caught that from when we met," her feet swung back and forth gently hitting the seat. Harry quirked his mouth. He knew that she knew what year he was in but it gave him the chance to give in the mini-battle he was waging in his head.

"First-year also, I hope that it will be Ravenclaw and not Slytherin. The world would go to spare if the boy-who-lived ended up a snake. Don't you think?" There was a glint of amusement in her sapphire blue eyes. Letting him know that he was playing the same game she was, like he said he wouldn't be surprised if there was seer blood running through her veins.

"Oh yes, I imagine the world alight in fire and black soot covered buildings tipping precariously. The masses running with their arms flailing and shouts and screams of outrage. You did know of the hat? I would hate to have ruined the surprise." He saw a brief anxious look behind carefully masked emotions. He did indeed know of the hat he had heard talk of it around the Alley.

His mask slipped a bit, not that he noticed, and Luna saw emeralds warm and glowing. She relaxed instantly. She could get use to that look, quickly. She had seen him in her dreams, sitting her alone on the train. The cold mask in place the time, Luna didn't like that for some reason. She also saw a brilliant wide smile on an older looking Harry and her heart just about melted with relief. She had seen a conversation where he warned her that he wasn't perfect. Luna didn't buy it for a second she saw that smile and that was not the smile of a damaged boy.

She would do everything in her power to make that smile appear eventually. She wasn't deluded enough to think that it would just happen out of thin air. There was work that needed doing and she would do it. She wasn't sure if she was just a friend to Harry, or a girlfriend. But her reaction to that smile was enough to start out just being friend and maybe move on to something more.

Luna's visions were sketchy at best. She wouldn't come into her full inheritance until she was nineteen. Not that she minded it was both a gift and a curse being a seer, but maybe with Harry it would be more a gift. She knew better than to such plans without talking to Harry, but she didn't want to scare the poor fella away.

No one ever wanted to think of her as friend because she was 'weird'. But it looked like Harry didn't mind. She tried the riddles, the newspaper, silence, she wasn't sure if she had anything else up her sleeve.

"No worries, I knew. I was wandering around the Alley and heard talk of the hat. I do hope that I can get a picture of that chaotic situation. It might just be the comic relief I need at the end of a school day. Perhaps I should go to Slytherin just so we can make your vision real?" He spoke softly with a hint of mischief present.

"Hm, I'm more a Raven myself. Perhaps we can gather the same reaction if you join Ravenclaw and we come up with a diabolical plan that is worthy of any Dark Lord. I know Tom would be very jealous," Her mischief matching his, but hiding her smile behind her paper. Harry tilted his head to the side trying to figure out the puzzle that was Luna Lovegood.

Who was Tom and why would he be jealous? Perhaps he was a well-known Dark Lord. Harry didn't really research past Dark Lords, beside the one that screwed him over. Harry understood the concept that it was war and his parents were the enemy. But it didn't help sooth his anger at the man.

"I always did find myself liking the color blue," He stated with a smirk and turned his head to the window.

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+ I'll add to this later, Review?


	2. The Potter Chameleon

Disclaimer: I own nothing, something to be proud of I know.

Warning: ? | Rating: T | Pairing:Harry P./_ | Genre:Angst/_ |

Edit Day: 1/13/13 | 1/20/13 | 2/10/13 |

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_Harry was in a flashback, again. He watched as the pale man-made his way up the walk his wand twirling with lithe fingers. His mother was reading him a story and his twin was snoozing with his father on the couch. Harry watched with morbid fascination as his parents start to panic when the Caterwaul Charm alerts them to an intruder. His father yells to his mother to take the children upstairs, which looking back on it was a pretty stupid suggestion. They were essentially trapped by doing that. His father announces that he will hold the man off. By now his twin, Danny, is screaming his head off and wiggling in his mother's arms. Baby Harry stays quiet and analyzes the situation._

_She manages to get us up the stairs quickly enough. Though she could have gotten up them faster if she hadn't been trying to wrangle in Danny. Harry shot a feeling of irritation at his twin. He had tentatively probed his link with his brother to tell whats wrong with him. He found that his fussiness came from the wailing of the alarm. Harry doesn't care if the alarm is hurting his brothers ears Danny needed to cooperate with his mother if they want to get out of this alive._

_Of course these are all his thoughts looking back on the situation. His mother finally gets to the nursery they share and barricades the door with a dresser. Having no time to set up a ward scheme, which in his opinion she should have already done before the man got access to the house. Foolish woman, she had gotten to comfortable with only having the Fidelius charm on the house and she forgot making other provisions. Even if his thoughts on provisions include a ward that would burn anyone passing through. Dark and dangerous? Yes, but when your fighting for your life how can you not think of that? Especially if you have children you need to protect._

_Harry watches carefully as she cuts open her palm and draws the ruins on his chest about the place where his heart lays. He thinks the only reason that she put the ruins on him was because he was the stillest. She pulls Danny from the crib and holds him close. Wiping the tears from his face trying to calm the wailing child. His brother had always been one for the dramatics. There was a loud thump outside the door, Harry knew it was his father falling to a Terror Curse. He wasn't positive of the incantation. His mother set his brother next to him in the crib. With a well place Blasting Curse the dresser and the door are in shards of wood. A couple of the shards hitting his brother, effectively shutting him up. Perhaps that would still work, Harry thinks with malice. His brother never shut his trap._

_His mother stands in front of the crib. Harry could see that he, Harry, was mimicking the features of the man. Being the young metamorphmagus he was he automatically took the form of the people he looked at. Yes, even women he still hadn't heard the end of it from his family. The older Harry, the one that was watching the scene moved from behind the crib to get a good look at the man. The man had deep chocolate-brown hair, there were flecks of grey on the sides. He had pure aristocratic features with a straight nose, full lips, and almond eyes. But his eyes were what drew Harry in. They were a ruby-red color that were some how more fitting than any other color. Brown wouldn't do those eyes justice, his face was exotic and he needed an exotic eye color to match._

_The memory started again and there was a sick feeling in Harry's gut. There was a reason why this was a nightmare. The man spoke with a sibilant hiss on all his 'S's which Harry would find fascinating if the man wasn't an asshole._

_"Step aside Lilian, you can come out of this alive if you step aside NOW," his voice was so demanding but also so intoxicating. A calm washed over the Harry that was watching the scene. He would have to research these feelings later. Was it magic the man used on his voice or was he was just calmed by it._

_"No, not my babies. Take me instead, just not my children!" She pleaded with the stoic man. The brown-haired man quirked his head to the side as if trying to figure out a complex puzzle. There was suddenly a spark of intuition in his blood-red eyes and a cruel smirk crept across his emotionless face._

_"Clever clever girl. You almost had me, you truly are the smartest witch of your age. It would be such a shame to lose a bright mind like your's. Of course it would be taking a chance and how would I know you wouldn't be a pain in my side. Hm, I think I'll leave it up for deliberation later. For now your punishment!" The man announced in a superior voice._

_The man trained his wand on Harry's mother and sent a vicious red and black speckled jet of light at his mother. Her screams echoed in his ears and he watched as his mother twitched violently on the white carpet. When the man finished her freckled face shone with sweat, her chest was heaving in air desperately, and Harry could still hear her pleading for her children's lives. Baby Harry could feel tears slipping from his eyes as he looked on in confusion._

_"To think a muggleborn almost defeated the Great Lord Voldemort with love. A mother's sacrifice, oh yes, that would put me in a bit of a predicament when I turned my wand on the children. For your cunning I leave you and your husband to misery knowing you failed to protect your children," The older wizard shot a red curse at his mother and her voice stopped short and it looked like she was dead, the older Harry looked on with tears in his eyes._

_The younger Harry was scared. He saw his mother lying on the floor not moving. Harry couldn't exactly comprehend what he was seeing. All he knew that this was no joke, it was nothing like when his daddy made the fun bubbles, Harry was in serious trouble. The man turned to look his unconscious brother, who had been knocked in the head when the door exploded, and raised his wand. But as Harry watched, he screamed "NO," startling the man into looking at him. Red and green collided together. Amusement was on the surface of the thin man's face._

_"So you're the prophecy child? You certainly don't look like much," a quirk of his thin lip showed razor-sharp teeth. Harry shivered at the sibilant hissing of his 'S's. He had to think of something. Watching on in curiosity the man trained the wand on his head. Instinctively all Harry could think of was love. The heartwarming feeling he felt for his mother and he could feel a spark of magic, but it wasn't enough. He dug deep; remembering each laugh he had with his father, and the need to protect his brother. A warm flow of magic coated his skin and Harry turned his now red eyes to the tall man, daring him to say the spell. Suspicious hesitance crossed the mans aristocratic features._

_"_Avada Kedavra_," The man hissed, a green light shot from his pale wand. The curse hit Harry on the forehead he felt a calmness overtake him. But he fought it with everything he had, pictures of his family ran through baby Harry's mind. He felt a soul shattering pain run trough him, it felt like his very soul was being ripped as he fought against the curse. He felt like he had no emotion that he would be non-feeling for the rest of his life all the love that stormed through him earlier left him an apathetic husk. He finally felt a shift in power and the curse instead of pulling and tearing at his soul was being push toward the handsome man._

_The older Harry watched in a curled ball he could remember that pain all to well. It left him scarred and traumatized. That whole evening had, he still couldn't tolerate sudden loud noises as it reminded him of the door being blasted open and the pain of the wood chunks grazing his soft flesh. He had problems with people screaming as it threw him back to his mother writhing under the Cruciatus and the slight blood that leaked from her mouth._

_The man's eyes had widened during this whole battle. No one could fight off the Killing Curse, right? But here was this baby battling it tooth and nail. Tom knew that you could throw off the Imperious Curse he had never seen someone ignore the effects of the Cruciatus Curse. Though it was known as possible, he wasn't sure where this child had come from and where he got that control, that talent was astounding to watch._

_With a final push from Harry the Killing Curse bounced back at the man. It was pure luck that it didn't hit him directly as he had moved out-of-the-way. "The little child has skill, you're a nasty piece of work aren't you." The older man growled. As interesting as this was to watch Harry would rather be conscious and not reliving memories of horrors past. He already knew what happened the Floo in the bedroom would flame to life and Dumbledore would see the robes that the man quickly shed. He would also see the gigantic hole in the wall where Harry had pushed curse back to. He would look at the finally conscious Danny screaming because of the noise and see that Harry was shivering and shaking with exertion until he passed out._

They would all later claim that Danny was the boy-who-lived and he had saved his family. That the lad had caught the curse in his hand and pushed it back. That he didn't feel the gut wrenching terror that he would be soulless and shattered. That he could have no remorse as he killed without thought. He never felt that he wouldn't be able to feel love again. Harry knew the truth though, it haunted him like ghost. He would have flash backs of that night often, panic attacks, insomnia, depression, and numbness.

Harry woke up and found himself in the basement, the potions lab. He loved it down there, it was so quiet and secluded. It was not a known fact that Harry liked potions, he kept it quiet as his father would pitch a fit. Harry shouldn't have been able to at the young age of seven. But he did, Harry had looked after himself after all these years. Making sure that there was a headache, calming, and dreamless sleep potions on him at all times. It wouldn't do for his parents or his brother to know he had post traumatic stress disorder. He had found the term in a Battle Medicine Guide that he found in his mothers library.

The child had passed out on the ground in the lab. It was of course Danny's fault, he had been tearing at Harry's already sensitive nerves. With his stupid pranks and general rowdiness; which left Harry a nervous wreck and induced panic attacks. The green-eyed child hadn't had a proper nights sleep in six years and he was almost to his breaking point. He needed help but he didn't know who to go to. Sirius was abroad with Remus, living somewhere in Canada. Lily and James put all their attention on Danny and their work. While Harry sat alone in the lab suffering. He needed help soon he could feel his body rebelling its treatment, and demanding restoration. But there was nowhere to turn with his issues with out being called an attention seeker.

Harry shakily got to his feet with the help of the counter. He leaned against it with his forearms, attempting to keep himself steady. Harry had to get his bearings before he could take any potions. There was a pounding in his head that came with every flashback. He went into his pocket and pulled out a headache potion. Harry tore the cork out and down the nasty potion quickly. He rested his head on the cool counter waiting for it to take effect.

When Harry felt the pounding headache release, he opened the calming draught more carefully. He sipped it slowly and he felt a rush of soothing nothingness run through his body. He calmly pushed off the counter he was leaning against, and walked over to the room that connected to the lab. It was his room, when his mother and father asked why he wanted a room in the basement he answered that he liked his solitude. They accepted the explanation without much of a fight, which Harry was grateful for, as it was Danny was busy talking about painting his room so they didn't pay much attention.

He opened the heavy wood door and strode into his circular bedroom. It was a strange set up; but, Harry had made it his own, and that was all that mattered. Starting at the wall left of the door was his closet and the bay window that Harry had installed by his grudging parents. It had a charm to give a view of the backyard and the Quidditch Pitch. On the other side of the room was his mini-library, he had the texts of his parents school days, and dusty, old tombs that were never used. Harry also had muggle literature on various subjects. There were two overstuffed chairs that sat next to each other, and a coffee table that was set in front of the chairs. The fire-place was next to the bookshelves, and he had a green beanbag chair on the soft rug that laid in front of the fire-place. His four-poster queen-sized bed sat in the middle of the room. Like he said it was a weird set up but it was his set up.

Harry locked the large door behind him, and walked over to the coffee table that sat in front of the two big chairs. He picked up his copy of _The Morphing Metamorphmagus_. While the talent was cool, it was also very dangerous if you were not careful. It was possible to magically drain yourself and end up with the features you were toying around with. It was also possible to tear muscles, rip veins, and fry nerve ending. There was a lot that could go wrong. Danny didn't like that Harry had a gift, it would be non-stop complaining for hours on end. His parents finally told him keep it to himself and practice in his spare time when no one was around. Despite that was the last thing a young Metamorphmagus should do, it could end in internal injuries, and death.

It was better to have a Transfiguration Master around so they can undo any thing that went wrong. Like his father, but the man never made time for Harry. Even when he was young before Voldemort attacked he always took a shining to Danny. Harry was always the kid that had his nose in a book, or was researching for a project. Brooms didn't give him any problems, not that his father would know, Harry had tried it once on his own in the backyard. It was okay but nothing like the rush he got when he would make a discovery or finally understand something.

Harry needed to have control of his body, but he didn't really feel like reading. Sometimes his body would take shape of someone when he was lost in thought and they were in his line of sight. Which was embarrassing when it was a little girl or a woman. That was the only time his father paid attention to him was to make fun of him. It was the sad truth, his life was one big joke to his father.

"Showing your real gender eh, Harrykins?" "Imagine the type of wanking he can do when he grows up, Lily Flower!" Those were some of the many things his father joked about. His mother could be caught smirking but would control it if it got to out of hand. Even if Danny was jealous of his morphing abilities he still made fun of him and asked him if he could change his feature so he had a cooler brother. Anyone he met asked him if he could morph into something more attractive.

The jibes his father made had dealt a blow to his flimsy confidence. Every time Harry looked in the mirror at his original form he found something wrong. His nose was a little to small for his face, one eye was squinter than the other, he often had dark circles under his eyes, his lips too big, his skin wasn't as smooth as he would have liked, and his ears were too small and far to pointed. Not like elf pointed but there was an arch to them.

With his body it was too skinny and had little muscle. Granted that was how most seven year-old's were suppose to look but to Harry he was sickly looking. His PTSD didn't do much to help, in fact, it made it worse. His weight was often up and down depending on how he was dealing with the flashbacks. He looked at Danny and saw that he was much more healthy looking than Harry.

With all these deformities, as Harry thought, he used his morphing talent to cover it all. No one really knew what he looked like. He often wore his hair short and styled when his hair was usually long and thick. Instead of the pale ice green eyes that were alike to the killing curse, he turned them an emerald color. His tiny upturned nose that irritated him, was now straight and roman like. His normally round eyes were transformed into almond-shaped eyes. Harry's disproportionate full lips were morphed into a thin cupids-bow mouth. Finally the child's originally heart-shaped face became round and softer than the prominent bone structure he was born with.

The only time he let his mask drop was when he was sleeping, his core wasn't large enough to hold the transformations when he was resting. He would be able to when he was older, so for now he just locked his bedroom door. Not that anyone would even look for the change in appearance he had worn his mask for so long that everyone just assumed that he looked that way. He would probably never show his true face, he wasn't sure if his already low self-esteem could take such a hit. With his natural-born face he could fool himself into believing that he was attractive.

Harry noticed that he had stared at the same page since he picked up the book, with a heaving sigh he got back up and tossed the book into the bean bag chair. He wasn't about to go back upstairs Danny and his friends were still running amok. His brother had gotten into the broom shed earlier that morning. Neville, Danny, and Ron took the brooms and started to fly through the manor at break neck speeds. Their screaming and whooping sent him into a panic causing Harry to sequester himself in the basement. He knew that his brother's friends were coming to the manor today so he had prepared the potions he needed to get through his attacks.

Harry had tried to take a calming draught before the impending panic, but that caused him to get stuck in a flash back that accompanied the panic attack. Harry found out that the flashbacks negated the calming draught. Mostly because he was in a different part on his mind when his mind was thrown into a tailspin, at least that was his theory. When a calming draught is taken it is used for the present mind, not the past, if that made sense. So the magic in the potion was working with the present mind giving the body the idea that everything is working right and all is fine. But in reality Harry is stuck in his past mind and suffering from the painful memories. Not being able to knock himself into conscientiousness because the calming potion has told his body he doesn't need to wake-up.

It was a difficult concept to explain, but that was magic. It never made sense, and was rarely logical. That was why wizards and witches now a days were hopelessly clueless. They would forgo the logic and go to illogical, what Harry found was if you went the extra step more was discovered. He hoped that one day that he would be able to create a potion that blocked the panic attacks and flashbacks. He supposed that a simple _Obliviate,_ or a _Ligilimens _could fix it, but who had access to those talents. Very few people did, that was why he wanted to create something everyone would have help with in their reach. But Harry wouldn't be able to do any experimenting until he had a deep understanding of potions. For that to happen he needed a potions master. The only one he knew was Severus Snape, whom loathed the Potters. Not that he blamed the cranky man, James was an arsehole.

But from the journals that Lily left laying around, Harry uncovered that his mother and the potions master were once close friends. That is until fifth year when he called his mother the slur _'mudblood'_ when he was trying to recover what little pride he had left, which was rude but not necessarily grounds for you turning your back and alienating a childhood friend. He could tell his mother's defenses were wearing before the incident her friends always questioning why she was hanging out with the greasy git of the dungeons. James was constantly badgering her about a date, and she found his humor charming.

Lily was trying to defend Severus' honor that day bur she could have done it at another time. One where his underwear was not showcased. Harry could imagine how emasculating it was to have a woman defend you when you're unable to. What Harry found as odd was that in earlier passages the man had told her that he had to keep a cover to evade bullying from his house. So when Severus called her the name it could have been a way to recover his role as a blood purist. He had gone to the Gryffindor portrait and camped out there to apologize to his one true friend, but Lily turned Severus away.

The whole situation was a mess, and there was little to no chance that Severus would forgive Lily or James in order to help him in any way. Harry went over to his bed, and decided that it was a good time to take a nap. At least before the sleep over activities started. Even though Harry was an insomniac, Danny and his friends were so loud that they interrupted his nightly schedule. It was during the night that he did his brewing, drawing, or eating. During the day he slept if he could, and stayed away from his boisterous brother. James and Lily never questioned his sleep patterns as long as he didn't bother them.

Later that night a hiss woke him from his fitful rest. _'Childe the night awaits you,'_ Anath hissed softly. He had found her in the lush forest that surrounded Potter Manor. She had just been a hatchling, and was the runt of the bunch. It reminded him of his own situation when her brothers and sisters made fun of her, saying that she would never amount to catching her prey. That her prey would triumph over her, or a bird would swoop in and eat her alive.

In the dead of night, Harry slipped into the forest and asked the snake if she would like to be his familiar. The four year-old could already feel the connection being formed with the small snake. She agreed, being a Fanged Blue Back, and weaker than normal she would be vulnerable to all sorts of predators; animals, wizards, and witches to name a few. Harry took Anath in and nursed her to health. Of course she wouldn't have full use of her magical powers until about twenty years, but that just meant it was his turn to protect her. When she reached twenty it would be her turn Harry, but that didn't mean she wouldn't try her best to look after him.

'_Yes, yes I know. Where is the loud one and his alike?' _Harry was speaking of his brother. It was more polite to speak like a snake to a snake. For one, English and Parseltongue are two totally different languages and very rarely translated exactly. It insulted a snake if you didn't respect their tongue and the last thing you wanted was a poisonous pissed off snake.

'_Making noise in his den, his fellow alike are laughing at his imitation of the baboon," _Contrary to popular belief snakes could hear. Well, magical snakes could; their scales absorbed the sound and relayed it to their brain. So when Danny and his friends were being noisy it was hard on the young snake. Older snakes could block the noise with the shields they built-in their minds, Anath would have to make do with the little magic he could give.

Being a familiar she had access to his core. She would never take more than he could handle though. They were bound in every sense of the word.

_'Ss, I assume you mean that he his...acting immature? Does that make sense in your tongue?' _A lot of the time Harry had to ask what Anath meant when she made observations. Her words often related to the animal kingdom and symbolism. While it helped with reading literature, it made relaying a message difficult.

'_Yes young one, the baboon often represents immaturity or lack of individuality. But Thoth, the god of wisdom in Egyptian Mythology had the body of a baboon. But in this case I am referring to your kin's immaturity,'_ Harry understood that context was an important part of snake language.

Anath slowly curled around Harry's outstretched arm. She liked the sound of his heartbeat and rushing blood. He carefully ran his index finger down her scaly back. Anath let out a hiss of pleasure at his soft touch. Snakes did enjoy compassion from the right person. There were a lot of snakes that didn't like interaction with humans at all. But not Anath she loved the reassuring touches, they told her that he was there to protect her.

He gracefully got up, as to not to disrupt his pet. Harry quickly got changed and pulled his hair back. He stepped into his closet to get to the floor-length mirror. Cringing a bit at his natural form, and sneering self-deprecating comments in his head he began to change his features. Thinking of bone structure, tissue layers, nerves and capillaries. It was a lot to keep straight, morphing. Practicing did help keep his thoughts sharp, though.

* * *

+ As you can see, I was lazy this week. For shame! I'll update this later when I have more time. Tell me which one you would like to have update most in the reviews and I'll see what I can do.

-This one will eventually be at least 9,000 like the rest before I retire it.

-I start winter semester this week so I have to get in the rhythm of things before I update. But I will update! My new years resolution was to write at least 100 words a day, I always end up with more hence this piece fanfiction.


	3. The Minnesota Magical Institute

Warning: None | Pairing: Hermione G. / Harry P. | Rating: T|

Edit Day: 1/26/13 | 02/08/13| 02/17/13|

* * *

Harry jogged from the bus stop to the Institute. The coffee he carried, started slosh precariously in his cup. Harry bundled in his coat a little more as another chilling breeze ripped through him. Oh, how he hated winter with a fiery passion! He had made a bet with Hermione that he could go a year without the aid of magic. Stupidly, his male pride made a roaring appearance: preening at the challenge presented. This wager did not extend towards his studies, though. Harry could not use magic in his daily life; like a warming charm, drying charm, or apperating. He really walked right into this pickle. Hermione announced that if he could carry out the bet, she would go on a date with him. In the odd chance he could not hold up his side of the venture, Harry would end up pining for his friend for another couple of years.

He often wondered if Lily made James the same bet. Harry was almost sure that his father would have fallen for the same trap. This whole ordeal was Hermione's unique way of training him out of his laziness. After years at Hogwarts one just used magic for all basic needs. Not that Harry minded. This was more of a game with them, they always had to challenge each other. Hermione with logic and he with physicality. Every couple had its quirks.

Harry had moved from the UK to America after the war was all said and done. The hero-worship the masses provided was disgusting. Especially after being villanized by the press for three years. The Weasley's were not that surprised to see him go. After Fred died, Harry saw George looking so lost and confused. It tore him apart inside. Just knowing that there was a chance to save him from such heartache. Ginny tried to convince Harry that it wasn't his fault, but she had no luck with him. The result of her attempts often degraded into yelling matches. It was somewhat of a precursor of what a relationship would have been like if they did get together. Hermione was the one that was able to get through to Harry with a logical explanation; how it couldn't possibly be his fault. She drew up all possible plans that could have saved Fred. Short of time travel, none of the tactics were plausible.

Hermione and Ron had been going strong during the war. But that was before the press and attention went to his head. Ron started to pull a Gilderoy Lockheart on the group. He went as far as to ask Hermione to write a book about his accomplishments, she promptly packed her bag to crash at Harry's flat. It was obvious that Ron still had a lot of growing up to do. His behavior had shocked Harry to his core, after all that they had been through he still wanted the spotlight. After losing a brother! It disgusted both Harry and Hermione. The pair was willing to talk to him once he deflated his humongous head and ego. Harry thought it was Ron's way of dealing with the grief, at least he hoped it was. The others didn't really have anything to say on the subject, it was sort of taboo.

Hermione had taken a room at Harry's place because they were still trying to come to terms about all they had been through; it wasn't that she couldn't afford a flat herself. They would always find themselves up through the night, due to nightmares, talking about their Hogwarts days and what idiots they had been. An eleven year-old battling a wizard that was fifty years his elder, slaying Basilisks on weekends, chasing after fugitives, competing in deadly tournaments, breaking into a federal building with no plan, stalking a newbie Death Eater that roamed the halls of a school, and killing mutilated pieces of a mass murder's soul. To say they were a little more than screwed up, was a massive understatement. Harry had blood on his hands since he was an eleven year-old and hadn't talked about it once with a responsible adult.

Hermione had almost been killed many times because of him, but before he started on a self-deprecating rant Hermione hexed him for an hour straight. Once she got his attention, and he wasn't wallowing in self-pity. She logically explained that it was her decision. Also that if he ever doubted that she couldn't take care of herself again, he would be hanging by his toes over the astronomy tower. While the joke was in poor taste due to Dumbledore, he still laughed a bit before crying in hysterics. But she was there to calm him.

Taking the walk to the Institute at a fast pace he nearly twisted his ankle in the slippery slush. Sighing, _that woman was viciously clever_. Harry was sure that his stubbornness would persevere, and he would win this silly competition. Not even two months in to the bet he was already planning the dinner and the date. The raven-haired man would not let a silly thing such as magic come between him and his bookworm.

His thoughts started to wander as he reached the stretch of clean sidewalk. America wasn't so bad, the accents were funny, and the slang was hard to translate. But the magic world was very progressive, and after many civil wars between the purebloods and muggleborns, there was little to no racism. It had been the best choice he ever made, he felt free here. Without the restraints of the press or fans. But it had been a hard choose when he came across the option.

The Ministry offered him a job as an Auror, but Harry declined. His survivor's guilt was still raging, and Harry was _so_ tired of fighting. He had spent seven years fighting and fearing for his life. Whether it be the Dursley's, the Ministry, or Voldemort. He was always in the middle of the action. Harry felt like he was 40 instead of 17; his joints were achy, he was constantly tense from post-traumatic stress, and his depression left him feeling vulnerable. Being an Auror would just exacerbate his ailments.

He had spoken to many people to figure out what he wanted to do. All decided that he should continue to protect Britain, not that he didn't already give his life for the people... Harry's answer came to him when he asked how Severus Snape's portrait how he earned the title of Potions Master. He learned that the man had attended an Institute and got a degree in Potion Sciences. Surprisingly enough he also had a degree in education, granted it was for teaching University level students. But, Severus did know how to teach.

The question why Snape decided to teach wasn't as illusive as it once was. He did like teaching young minds, just young minds that wanted to learn potions. At Hogwarts it was rare if you could find a child that wanted to have a firm grounding in potions. Britain in general looked down upon potions, thinking them useless. So Harry could understand Severus' frustration with the children. It didn't excuse his abhorrent behavior, but it now made more sense. Dumbledore had blackmailed the professor into teaching children younger than his accredited degree, which was unethical. But that was "_neither here nor there, my boy."_ Dumbledore's portrait had stated with a cheerful smile. He almost felt sorry for the Potions Master, having to deal with the headmaster's cockamamie ranting even in death.

Harry was slowly coming to terms with the losses that the light had sustained at the Battle of Hogwarts. He wouldn't admit it out loud to anyone, but Harry had made use of the counseling services given by the Minnesota Magical Institute. The sessions were actually helping, which had been most surprising. Not that his talks with Mione weren't helping, but it was hard to open up with the information about the Dursley's. It had always been his dirty little secret, he would have never been able to talk to anyone in Britain without it being on the Prophets front page. He could see the titles now "The-Man-Who-Lived-To-Be Weak?" He had no doubt that they would turn against him at a moments notice. Especially after he turned down the Auror job.

Hermione went all out on the research about America, before she found that it was the best choice. It was either that or Australia. The thing that kept them from Australia was they were still butting heads on Magical Being Restrictions. In the U.S. there were vampires in governmental positions, Muggleborns as lawyers, Veela and Fae in healthcare positions. It wasn't called the 'Melting Pot' for a reason. Beings and humans were not judged on their blood or genealogy in America. His counselor was an elf and she helped him through some of the worst memories. He had learned that Hogwarts has scared many children, be it dangerous magical creatures, abusive potions teachers, or creepy Defense Against the Dark Arts teachers. It was somewhat of a joke around America. Much to Harry's chagrin, he would always been loyal to the place he protected so fervently.

When Kapila, his counselor, found out about his life it had disturbed her greatly. No child should have gone through so much. It felt good that someone felt indignant about his treatment. Not that Hermione didn't, but like him, it was more of a normal for her. Hermione wasn't an outsider her perspective would be shadowed of how she grew up. He was happy that an outsider felt for him without malice or jealousy. Kapila often questioned British Wizard and Witches sanity. Perhaps it was the war that just brought out the worst in them? But that couldn't be, because they were acting the same way in times of peace.

He snapped out of his thoughts when he reached the steps of the Main Building, checking his watch he made haste up four flights of stairs and to room 430. Sliding into the auditorium styled lecture hall he took a seat in the back. He was still trying to make progress with his insecurities about answering questions. The times when Harry got better grades than Dudley; the raven-haired boy got his ears boxed by his uncle, or his aunt screamed at him for cheating.

While he no longer held animosity toward his cousin, Petunia and Vernon were still petty and narrow-minded as ever. He mentally assessed his relations as he flopped down in his chair. Harry pulled out all his necessary material before taking a heavy swig of his coffee. He started to doodle with his refilling fountain pen.

Another thing he liked was that he didn't need to use a quill anymore, people raised their eyebrows the first day of class when he brought an ink pot and a quill. The teacher questioned him, and Harry told them that he was from England. They all nodded in a sort of unheard understanding, it was uncomfortable that they thought so little of his homeland.

But he could understand, Britain was way behind in the times. They were also very offensive to all magical beings: stating them as creatures, taking away wand rights, and killing them as if they were putting down a rabid dog. Half the time the students expected him to start spouting pureblood propaganda. But even with all these difficulties he still liked America even if they were less than subtle with their beliefs. He held strong to the fact it was the best decision he made.

"It is now 9:30, and your butts better be in your seats," there was a ruffle of movement around as people found their seats. Harry shuffled around his bag and found the doughnut Hermione packed for him, god how he loved that woman! He opened the plastic bag and started the break off pieces of the glazed bread.

"Ah music to my ears. Welcome back to another fun lesson of Magical Writings. Can anyone tell me what we were discussing before we left last week?" The small blonde asked. She folded her legs so they folded over each other as she floated in a hovering water bubble. She had told them on the first day of class that her father was a Kelpie and her mother was a Selkie. The downside of her parentage was that she couldn't be out of water and the green tinge to her skin. At least that was what she said the time.

A person in the front row raised their hand. The teacher pointed to the boy in response. "We were discussing how authors in the magical world once used an artifact of sort that could put magic in to writings. The knowledge was lost in the burning of the Alexandria. But there have been advancements made where mute magical beings are able to do magic again. There are people trying to make it where they can write with their wands and not have to do it through a writing utensil, but they are missing something." The teacher gave a sharp toothed smile and nodded. She flicked a bone like wand and papers popped in front of each student.

On the other side of town...

Hermione absent-mindedly slipped a finger under the next page of the book, subconsciously preparing to turn to the next page. Curled up like a cat she sat in the bay window seat; a soft fluffy blanket wrapped around her shoulders, and a cup of hot coco steaming on the end table beside her. It was wet, cold, and dreary out; everything that Hermione hated.

Harry he had no problem with it, he said it was use to it, which didn't set well with her. She knew the Dursleys were less than stellar guardians, she was the one that usually patched Harry up on the train ride to Hogwarts every September. She would never pretend that she understood the motives of Albus Dumbledore or the weird relationship he had with Harry.

Hermione wouldn't forget either, how the man never told Harry that he had to die to kill Voldemort. Such a cowardly act for a man of his caliber, she glowered angrily at the novel she was reading. Dog earring the worn page of her Sherlock Holmes book, she picked up her cup of coco thinking about the past and how much had changed. Her gaze watched the ant like men in their stiff business suits walk. Some were striding, as if the were a bit late and wanted to get back on schedule. Others dragged their feet, looking haggard and worn from a long day at the office.

Hermione was happy she left Great Britain with Harry as a partner. She would have ended up like the haggard workers if she had stayed, more than likely with hopelessness etched into her face. But Harry would never allow that, he would do everything in his power to act like a goofball until she gave him a hint of her smile. That's what she hated most and loved most about Harry; his selflessness. He was always giving, never once stopping to think about himself. But she supposed that's what she was there for; to knock some sense into the stubborn Gryffindor. Sometimes kiss, but that was neither here nor there. Sleet battered down on the pavement causing frantic movements for umbrellas or the clone like men to pull their jackets over their heads. Her teacher at the Institute had cancelled class, Harry pouted for the entire morning.

She knew that Harry couldn't go the entire year without magic. The boy was hopeless without it, she had only made the challenge to see if he could keep his male pride in check. Which, he couldn't. She would go on a date with him once he was able to put a stopper on his foolishness. She was not going to ruin her relationship with Harry for dinner and a movie, when she could get the same thing with out the title of dating.

But she really did want to claim him as her boyfriend. He was a girls dream guy, and if she didn't act soon he could pair himself off to some Mary Sue. Who would probably drain his bank accounts. But Harry wasn't a dream guy to her, he would always be the stubborn, protective, level-headed guy that she always knew. Okay, maybe he wasn't always level-headed but he was now and that's all that matters.

_Mreow_ Her thoughts broke when Crookshanks started begging for attention. She lifted an eyebrow at the cat, he usually was up to no good when he was looking for pets. "What did you do you little troublemaker," He butted his head against her hand totally ignoring her question. She sighed in exasperation and scratched him behind his ear.

"Harry should be home soon, then you can bother him." He looked personally insulted when she said this. Stiffening his tail, he strutted away. _Drama Queen._ Hermione rolled her eyes at her cat's antics.

* * *

+ Okay, I'm not sure if I like this one... But someone asked for Hermione and Harry. They weren't specific as to the age they wanted him at so I took a stab in the dark. I stayed close to home with the setting, you might have guessed that I am not British...

+ Questions, Comments, Concerns?

+ I might add to this, I mean there is a plot somewhere buried in there.


	4. Tom's Journal

Disclaimer: I own nothing Harry Potter

Rating: T | Pairing: Tom Riddle Jr. / Harry P. | Warning: ?

Edit Day: 02/17/13

* * *

Harry had found a journal in his cupboard a few days ago, he had no idea how it got there. The binding; ragged, and the black cover had long since faded to a dull grayish color. Contrast to the book itself, bright gold letters spelled out: _Tom Marvolo Riddle_, it was an oddity. Harry liked the name Marvolo, it rolled off the tongue with ease. Another curiosity about the journal was it thrummed with a heart beat. The tempo always matching his beat for beat. Yes, the journal was strange, but that is the way Harry liked his things. He was so used to things being so normal and bland. When a chance like this came across his path, he took to it with a strangle hold. Harry picked up the chewed pen he found at school, pulling it out of the holey sock he stapled to the wall, and wrote _THIS JOURNAL BELONGS TO_: Haraldr Jamison. So if someone found it, he could deny it was his. Not that he would let it out of his sight.

The young child started to sketch his cupboard in detail on the second page. He was never one for the written word, or fond of words at all. They had never been useful in the Dursley household, actually looked down upon in the house. Just nod and do as your told. It usually led to a peaceful life, unless they were feeling particularly spiteful. Harry liked reading, it just wasn't his favorite hobby. If he needed to look something up, or accomplish something by reading, he would buckle down and get it done. But he didn't indulge in it as a past time. Harry usually stole paper and pencils at school, then stuck them in his overly large pants to hide his treasures. He wasn't sorry that he stole. Harry was going to use the pens, pencils, and erasers. Unlike Johnny Alderman, who stuck his school supplies up his nose and ate erasers. Harry rolled his eyes at the idiot.

_In the drawing the cupboard door was open. You could see the torn mattress had holes and stains. A ragged baby blanket laid crumpled at the top of the bed, and a small pillow frayed from use; with stuffing spilling out._ Harry always got the leftovers, whether it be used clothing, food, or bedding. His relatives were pigs to their core, he didn't deserve this type of treatment. That's at least what the school psychologist said, not that she could do anything about the treatment. She always seemed to forget about him when he returned to her office, like something wiped away her memory. But she was always helpful with her advice once he got over retelling his story.

Harry had stopped coming to her office after what seemed like the tenth time. But boy, was she a good actor. She had him going for a while; thinking that something would actually be done. He snorted at the thought. No one would help him with the Dursley's. He was on his own in a cruel world and always would be. Harry moved down the page and started on his view inside the suffocating cupboard. _Spiders dangled in their web, small flies at their mercy. The darkness was maddening, it permeated everything. He could barely see his hand in front of his face. _A tear fell on the paper, it felt right that it was on the page. It showed the grief he had suffered in the crowded space.

He drew himself huddled in the corner away from the spider. Harry wasn't oblivious to the fact he was a sickly looking child. Even though his relative scheduled his bathroom breaks, he had seen his pale sunken in face. He often wondered why no one ever said anything. He felt disgusting and weak when ever he saw himself in the mirror. He was glad no one ever said anything, that way he would have no one pitying him. Even if they were doing it behind his back. At the very bottom he labeled it: _A pitiful boy and his cupboard._ He slammed the journal shut and shoved it at the end of his cupboard. Where no one was small enough to reach, even his aunt Petunia.

As soon as he had it safely tucked away his aunt started rapping on the door. "Boy, quit lazing about and make dinner! Vernon will be home soon with Dudders," her voice made Harry grit his teeth in disgust. How could someone have such a nauseating voice. The woman would also be more attractive if someone transformed her into a horse. At least then she would bray like the jackass she is, and no one would have to listen to her. One could dream.

He quickly and quietly went about fixing dinner. Keeping as calm as he could so he wouldn't burn anything. He almost had when he heard Vernon barreling through the front door. The man could wake the dead with his stomping. The same went for his pig like son.

Dudley was whining like always, and in a careful maneuver Harry avoided his cousins fist. But a second later he shoved Harry and his forearm fell to the still hot stove. Chortling could he heard as Harry pushed the pain out of his mind. He would deal with it later after they all went to bed. The scrawny child finished the dinner and locked himself in the cupboard. He wouldn't let anyone see him cry, he wouldn't give them satisfaction.

Practicing deep breaths and slowly clearing his mind. He had to check on his city's status, something tickled at its defenses earlier that morning. Stubbornly pushing the pain away, he sunk deep into a daze.

_The city was empty. Well, not so much as empty as he had packed it away. Harry walked down the long alleyways with not a care on his mind. There were no muggers, rapists, or idiots. It was like his own little world. He didn't have to worry the Dursley's finding him either. There was just peace. He eventually came to the largest building in the city, Hariwald Tower. A ghost of a smirk pressed at the corners of his lips. The structure was massive and pulsed with a variety of colors. The most dominant one, though, glimmered green. _

_Harry strode up the grand staircase with a sense of authority. Gold doors reflected his scrawny appearance, he would need to change the doors later. He put in all the necessary pass codes and let the hand scanner prick his finger. Hydraulic levers pushed the door open to revel a massive room. There was a stone receptionist desk. He didn't pay attention to the woman standing there with a vacant smile on her lips. He moved the blonde away and pulled out the ledger, he was searching for the intrusion he felt earlier. _

_This was his city, and he would be damned before someone started to toy around with his masterpiece! Thorfinn Rowel it read in blood-red ink. He glared at the name in disgust, every person who entered his city was automatically registered on the town ledger. Mr. Rowel was not an invited guest, nor did he have the required paperwork filled out. He followed the name across the paper and found that he had checked into room 1031. A room that was off-limits to everyone! He slammed the book shut and gently moved the woman back to her place. He then popped to the outside trespassed room. _

_Glaring with distaste at the murky black color that coated the door he typed the pass codes in to gain entrance. How did the man even get in the building let alone one of the rooms. Grumbling about perverts violating his sanctum and adding razor blades to door handles, he opened up the room. There was nothing spectacular about the hotel room, it had a single bed, bathroom, dresser, and t.v., it was like most of the rooms in the tower. The tv allowed him to watch the man, to see what he did to his city. _

_Harry flicked the television on and settled into the bed. The man had a chubby face and a muscular body. His bright blond hair drew attention to his muddy blue eyes. The man was holding a stick, muttering what sounded like incantations. He paused the video, he remembered a red-haired woman do the same thing. Not the same words, but she had a stick as well, and she waved it around. The same with the man who looked like him, with his messy black hair and distinctly shaped glasses. But Harry had the woman's eyes and lips. He thought they were his parents, but the memories were so distorted he couldn't know. _

_But back to the waving of sticks, he had done some research at the library and found out that in some fairy tales there were wizards and witches who used magical wands. But that was just silly, right? There was no such thing as magic. His uncle took his every waking moment to remind Harry of this. Whether it be yelling it, yelling it while slapping him, yelling it while punching him, or yelling it with a belt in his hand. His uncle made sure Harry understood that there was no such thing as magic. _

_So why was all the evidence showing him that his uncle lied. Not that it was particularly surprising that Vernon had lied, the man was almost compulsive with it. But why would the man want Harry to believe him so badly that he made sure to stamp it into him. Did his uncle fear magic, or was it something else, something more sinister. Shaking his head a bit, as if to dust out all the cobwebs, and continued the video. It was clear to him that the man had messed with the room. He had tampered with the vase that contained the memory stored in the room. He pressed stop on the television and picked up the shimmering glass vase on the end table next to the bed. _

_Harry rarely looked at all his memories, mostly because they were with the Dursley's, or where were so incoherent that it was of no use. The water inside the vase sloshed precariously. With steady hands, Harry held the vase in front of his face before he shoved his face into the water. His world was immediately over taken and he found himself in a living room with the black-haired man, and the green-eyed woman._

* * *

+ Tell me what you think, you know the drill.

+ Like I said before, my Real Life is college. That will always come first, so I apologize if I haven't really updated.


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